


Silence

by Ujvari



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: And lots and lots of Khadgar-whumping, Angst, Beating, Bondage, Branding, Choking, Electric Torture, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, I call it 'FrostTrust', LionTrust, M/M, Power-abuse, Story contains Durotan/Khadgar fluff, Torture, Violence, Whipping, enslavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ujvari/pseuds/Ujvari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting captured by the orcs, Khadgar has little to no hope that he will make it through alive. As he suffers silently, he feels his will to live crumble to pieces with every passing day.<br/>By the time Lothar rushes to his aid, it´s already too late to save the mage´s tainted and stained soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the Warcraft movie, it was clear that mages are pretty useless once their mouth is covered (Having played mage myself, I personally hate everyone who is capable of silence spells…) and since I love helpless characters, it was too much of an invitation :3  
> But beware! There's some nasty stuff ahead, because I´m a sick motherfucker. No, really, I mean it.  
> Updates will be coming whenever I manage, so don't expect too much.  
> Enjoy this story while you can.  
> Not beta-ed.  
> 

The assembled crowd became silent when the charred forearm fell to the ground and crumbled into smoldering pieces upon the impact. In the next moment, Blackhand was down on his knees, grunting and breathing through the pain of having his arm chopped off by Durotan.

“You dare interrupt this judgement?” Gul'dan questioned unbelievingly, his grip tightening around his staff at the outrageous display of disobedience. The warrior better had a good reason to intervene so boldly.

“We fought hard,” Durotan defended his action, turning around and standing up to the intimidating orc. There was something he needed to make known. “Their warlock used your fel against us.”

“Only I can control the fel!” Gul'dan bellowed, eyes flaring up a dangerous green at the ridiculous statement, and approached the rebellious warrior with fast strides. The fel's vicious energy radiated from his body, causing the surrounding orcs to recline in pain, but not Durotan - though he did take a step back.

Regaining his composure, the old warlock opted for another strategy. “I see you and your man have survived. Perhaps Blackhand,” he gestured at the warrior of the Blackrock clan, “kept you safely away from the battlefield?” Gul'dan watched the other's reactions closely. “Maybe he knows you're weak, too,” he added after a moment, further provoking the leader of the Frostwolf clan.

Durotan reacted just in time to hold back his second-in-command by placing a hand over his chest, keeping him from advancing. He had already done enough harm and it would be foolish to anger the warlock any further.

Gul'dan craned his neck, scrutinizing the orc with slightly glowing eyes. “Do you wish to challenge me, little chieftain?” he inquired, his voice deep in his throat as he leaned closer to emphasize his words. Maybe it was wiser to dispose of the rioting warrior sooner than he had anticipated.

Taking his time to respond, Durotan looked around, stepping back uncertainly. He knew that his chances in winning against the warlock were close to zero and the stakes were unbearable high. “I do not question Gul'dan,” he spoke after another moment, “but the fel is born of death. Must have a price.”

“Ah,” Gul'dan breathed, noting the other's change in attitude, and spread his arms in an explanation, “a price paid in lives taken.” He could see that the chieftain was now struggling to uphold eye contact, his posture shifting into one of obedience as the seeds of doubt that had been planted into his heart blossomed. Pleased, Gul'dan decided to forgive the chieftain his little slip. Actually, he felt a certain curiosity himself.

Lifting his hand to stroke his beard, Gul'dan hummed, his evaluating gaze resting on both Durotan and Blackhand. “Fine, I will grant you a chance to prove your claim right. Bring me their warlock and I am willing to see for myself, their so-called fel...”


	2. Big Hand, Beating Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter came faster than expected. But don't get your hopes up, they won't always come this frequently. I have the tendency to just vanish for months...  
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed, bookmarked or gave kudos.  
> Have fun reading.  
> Chapter warnings: Minor character death, depictions of violence, angst.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Khadgar wasn't sure how he got into this current predicament. One second, he was mounting his horse, intending to accompany Garona back to Stormwind, when in the next moment, a giant hand had suddenly clamped over his mouth - effectively rendering his spells useless - and he was pressed tightly against a sturdy leather belt. He didn't even need to look to know that the enormous limb belonged to an orc.

It was as if the world stopped turning around him, all his thoughts zooming in on this dangerous creature that held him way too close for comfort. Feeling the even rise and fall of the mostly uncovered chest against his neck, a hot breath tickling the top of his hair, the young mage noticed only now how intimidating they really were. All it would take for the orc to snap his neck was a quick tug with his muscular arm - and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Khadgar stiffened at the disturbing realization, his heart beating a mile a minute. Fear held his body in an iron grip, immobilizing him more than the beast's hand could ever manage. Even if his mouth hadn't been covered, he doubted he would be able to utter a spell past the suffocating lump in his throat. It was hard to breathe, his lungs already burning from the lack of oxygen, and he began to feel light-headed.

From the corners of his eyes, Khadgar could make out Karos' sprawled form on the ground, unmoving and probably dead. Fighting his rising panic, Khadgar directed his pleading gaze at Garona, the only remaining person that at least stood a chance to save him. His palms began to sweat as the orcs stared at each other in silence, both of them evaluating the other's intentions.

When the male orc finally spoke, Khadgar felt the deep voice vibrate at the base of his skull, the sensation sending an unpleasant chill down his spine. He breathed heavily through his nose while listening intently to the developing conversation. Even though he couldn't understand a single word, he caught on to the mood that was surprisingly friendly, considering that Garona was a traitor to her kind. Provided that she really planned to betray her own people and side with the humans instead.

Anxiety settled in his gut like a tight knot, making his stomach churn, and his pulse rushed loud enough in his ears to almost drown out his hearing. Glancing at Garona repeatedly with wide, fearful eyes, Khadgar resisted the urge to squirm when the orc's voice became more insisting. The pressure around his jaw intensified, shifting from a firm hold to a painful grip, and the former Kirin Tor whimpered in despair.

This was it for him then. He would die...

It was just unfair. He wasn't even given the chance to defend himself. Trying to blink the tears away that suddenly burned in his eyes, he couldn't prevent one from spilling over and running down his cheek in a hot trickle. He didn't want to die, not yet and definitely not here. Not like this...

\---

A gurgle that sounded suspiciously like a choked death cry alerted Durotan to the presence behind him and he turned around, forcing the startled smallteeth to take a few hasty steps backwards to follow his movement. Only a short distance away, bent over the warrior that he had chosen to knock out, stood Blackhand, his newly acquired prosthesis driven into his victim's chest up to the hilt.

“You forgot to kill this one," Blackhand chastised as he straightened, lifting the impaled corpse up like it weighed nothing. The tension had already left the smallteeth's wimpy muscles and gravity bent his joints back unnaturally far. Spine arched in a perfect curve, the body slid down the entire length of the blood-lubed claws before dropping to the ground with a muffled thud.

Feeling the little creature in his grasp wince at the cruel sight and press up against him, Durotan hummed thoughtfully, careful to not let his emotions show on his face. He had been so engaged in his conversation with Garona, he hadn't heard the other approach. It was an unnecessary risk, really, and Durotan scolded himself for his inattentiveness. "I planned to take him as a prisoner," he made up a lie, hoping Blackhand would buy it if he acted nonchalant.

The member of the Blackrock clan seemed rather unconvinced, eyeing the chieftain with an unreadable expression while slowly unstrapping his giant battle hammer from his belt. "Who were you talking to?" he inquired, mistrust evident in his voice. Lifting the heavy weapon in an intimidating gesture, he let it rest on the mortal remains of the dragon that always adorned his broad shoulders.

Recognizing the gesture as the threat that it was, Durotan threw a glance back to confirm that Garona had managed to slip into the thicket without getting noticed. The color of her skin helped her blend in with the environment perfectly and her years of experience in appearing as inconspicuously as possible did the rest. The young warrior couldn't even tell whether she was still there or not. "No one," he answered finally, revolving to the advancing orc.

He didn't miss the skeptical look that Blackhand directed at the horses. Judging by their number, it was obvious that there had to be a third rider somewhere, but he said nothing. Seeing the warchief's grip tighten around the handle, the leather protesting under the strain, Durotan prepared to defend himself if need be. He knew that Blackhand was unpredictable, especially after losing a hand during their last clash with the domestic race, and that he would attack if he suspected him of being a traitor.

It was in this moment - when the tension between them was almost cuttable - that the smallteeth suddenly decided to fight him tooth and nail, the muffled shouts coming out incomprehensible as he thrashed around, kicking and hitting him with his weak fists wherever he could reach. Cursing inwardly, Durotan placed his free hand over the lean chest to keep him in place, simultaneously pinning the small arms down and getting a high-pitched whine in return. This was the worst possible time for a coping mechanism, his futile struggling only serving to attract Blackhand's attention. And sure enough, the warrior's gaze dropped down to examine the little creature.

When their eyes met again, the mood had brightened, if only a little. The member of the Blackrock clan had his lips pulled back, tongue playing with his exposed fangs. "Mh, and this one? A new prisoner as well?" he asked, almost mockingly, nodding at the heavily writhing smallteeth.

Looking down at the unfortunate creature, Durotan barely suppressed a sigh. He would rather avoid getting in a brawl with Blackhand and there was only one answer that would satisfy the other: “Yes.” He hadn't intended for anything of this to happen and he pitied the caster, knowing what fate awaited him if Gul'dan got his hands on him. Durotan had recognized it the instant he had grabbed him - the unmistakable smell of powerful magic that seeped out of every pore of his body. And if Blackhand noticed-

"Wait..." the warrior of the Blackrock clan called, stepping closer to the smallteeth that appeared to have suddenly frozen in place. He wasn't even breathing anymore as he stared, wide-eyed, at the orc that was so much taller than Durotan. When Blackhand sniffed him, he shied away, a broken sound leaving his throat. "This smell... I know it."

Durotan closed his eyes in defeat.

An evil smirk played around Blackhand's lips. “So that's what you're up to,” he mumbled, finally understanding. “And here I thought you were going to betray us like that filthy half-breed.” The warrior shook his head, amused, and patted the Frostwolf on the back. “Let's bring him to Gul'dan,” he ordered, already turning around to leave.

Durotan was just about to voice his concerns - whatever came to mind that would spare the caster - when a slight sting on his index finger caught his attention and he looked down, realizing that the smallteeth was biting him in a last, desperate effort to get free. It was all but impossible for him to gnaw through his tough skin with those pitiful fangs and if the tears that ran down his cheeks were any indicator, he knew that too.

The chieftain's heart went out to the quietly sobbing creature and without further ado, he released his grip, allowing him to leap away hurriedly. With the claw of his thumb, he sliced through the bitten spot, drawing blood. When he noticed the smallteeth staring at him in disbelief, he gave him a meaningful look, urging him to run as long as he still had the chance to.

Just when the creature turned to flee, the hilt of Blackhand's battle hammer came out of nowhere, hitting the smallteeth's neck hard and sending him to the ground where he remained prostrate and motionless. It happened so fast, he didn't even have time to cry out.

Blackhand bent down and grabbed the alarmingly limp smallteeth, flinging him over his shoulder without minding the spikes on his armor. The frail body didn't even give a twitch, despite being handled so roughly, and Durotan wondered briefly if he was still alive.

When Blackhand shot him a reprimanding look, he showed his self-inflicted wound. “He bit me,” Durotan explained halfheartedly, fully aware that there would be consequences at this point, regardless of what he said.

The warrior of the Blackrock clan raised his eyebrow, some of his earlier reservation returning. “Good thing he didn't rip you to pieces,” he sneered after a moment, unimpressed, and turned around to head back to their camp.


	3. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back. With more angst and some fluff.  
> Wow, it took me over a month to finish this, but well, long chapter is long…  
> This story has a beta now. I want to thank crazytreehuggingelf for putting up with me late at night, helping me come up with other ways to hurt our beloved mage and generally making this fanfic awesome.  
> Thanks to all who reviewed, bookmarked or gave their kudos. The feedback is simply amazing! You´re amazing! And every comment motivates me so much!  
> Have fun reading.  
> Chapter warnings: Angst, violence.  
> 

When they stepped out of the forest and into broad daylight, a lot of heads turned their way. It wasn't often that the warchief of the Horde marched into camp with an unconscious smallteeth thrown over his shoulder, so interested stares were bound to follow them as they passed by.

It was clear to anyone who had ever encountered a warlock in their life that this little creature possessed an immoderate amount of magic, even though it smelled different on him than what they were used to. There was always a lingering stench about fel magic, similar to a rotting cadaver, foul and infectious. The smallteeth's power felt… more pristine, if Durotan had to place it.

The chieftain watched with growing concern as they neared Gul'dan's tent, the bigger part of the orcs now trailing behind them, mumbling amongst each other and exchanging knowing looks. It had spread like a wildfire, the news of the Frostwolf's rebellion against their leader and his claim that the smallteeth were capable of using the fel as well. There was no mistaking that this was the rumored caster and they all wanted to witness it for themselves, the power he was said to wield.

The Warsong clan in particular appeared to be captivated by the unfolding events and when one of them stepped a little too close for his liking, Durotan growled deep in his throat, making her glare daggers at him before she stepped back into line. Once they came to a halt in front of the huge tent, he chose to stand behind Blackhand, keeping an observing eye on the spectators. The last thing he needed now was for them to act up.

A quiet groan caught Durotan's attention and he looked ahead, thanking the elements when he realized that the smallteeth wasn't dead. The creature was slowly coming around, his eyes opening gradually as he tried but failed to raise his head, still out of it. Before he could regain full consciousness, he was grabbed by his leg and yanked down roughly.

Khadgar felt the world spin around him and he might have thrown up if it weren't for the giant hand clasping around his mouth in the next moment, silencing him. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he would have laughed. It was plain ridiculous to think that he was able to cast in his current state... He couldn't even support his own weight properly, his buckling legs not obeying his command to keep him upright, as he tried to recall what had happened.

The last thing he remembered was that he had been released, so how did he end up pressed against a firm body for the second time that day? He couldn't tell for sure, but he knew that he was hurting. Not only his head, but also where the orc's heavy armor dug painfully into his back and ribs, eliciting another groan from him. Khadgar grabbed weakly onto the oversized appendage, his whole hand barely closing about one finger.

Slowly, he was able to discern his surroundings. The first thing that filtered through the blurry mess that was his vision was a strange symbol, maybe an unknown rune, red as blood and impending over him, like a portent, foreboding and promising; or an epiphany, a dark god of war, descending on earth to bring suffering and torment upon humanity.

In his dazed condition, the image seemed to pulse with a heartbeat, burning into his very memory, making Khadgar feel sick, anxious and even more vulnerable than he already was. Blinking repeatedly, he managed to clear his sight further, other objects finally emerging from the haze of spinning colors.

The symbol - not an epiphany, he could see that now - was emblazoned on the upper part of a huge tent, its entrance flanked by two grim-looking orcs. Behind him, Khadgar could make out different noises, like the clatter of armor and the bustling chatter of deep voices. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized exactly where he was. He had seen that tent before, but from a safe look-out far above the camp.

When something moved behind the worn skin that covered the tent's entrance, a sickly green glow coming through the tears, Khadgar's blood ran cold in his veins. Only seconds later, the curtain was pushed aside, revealing an aged orc. He was holding a gnarled staff in his hand, though he didn't need it to assist his walking. His steps were firm as his piercing gaze swept over the assembled crowd, breaking off each and every conversation until an eerie silence settled over them.

Khadgar swallowed hard as the creature approached slowly. If he thought the other orcs were intimidating, he had no words to describe their leader. Gul'dan was plain terrifying, Garona's depiction not doing him justice. The former Kirin Tor prayed that he wouldn't end up as another piece of decoration on those horrifying spikes that protruded from the beast's back. The moment the warlock laid his eyes upon him, he knew that he was doomed.

His stare bore into his very soul, practically rooting him to the spot. It was as if the creature knew his darkest secrets and deepest fears and would use them against him without reservation. Even worse, the orc himself was a nightmare come true. A personified nightmare. Khadgar's breathing sped up, a small whimper escaping his throat when Gul'dan came to a halt in front of him.

The orc's lips split in an ugly grin as he regarded the smallteeth. It was pathetic, the way the creature's far too small hands clung to the brawny fingers that clamped his mouth shut, not even trying to pry them away with their meager strength. No, their only purpose was to keep their owner geared to something as he stared at him, undisguised terror clearly visible in these widely blown eyes.

Taking another moment to bask in the displayed emotion, Gul'dan finally tore his gaze away from the heavily breathing and sweating figure. “Why do you present me this smallteeth, Blackhand?” he hissed, rather annoyed that he had been interrupted, and fixed the member of the Blackrock clan with his glowing eyes.

The warchief straightened at the intense stare, causing his prey to shift and whimper delightfully in his grasp. “He belonged to him,” Blackhand answered, tightening his grip around the very breakable jaw and the writhing stopped almost instantly. “To the caster that sicked the fel on us.”

“Is that so?” Gul'dan mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, throwing a glance at Blackhand and the peculiarly silent Frostwolf. He hadn't expected them to actually snare the warlock in question. Now distinctly more interested, the crooked orc focused on their newest prisoner, his lips twitching around his fangs as he inspected the unimposing creature that only seemed to shrink further under the undesired attention. This could actually be fun.

"Well then, let's see what their fel is like," Gul'dan sneered, directing a condescending look at Durotan. "Release him," he ordered Blackhand, who complied without objection.

Khadgar didn't understand what was going on when the fingers were lifted unexpectedly from his mouth and he was spun around, a rough hand shoving him away. Stumbling a few steps, he barely kept himself from falling to the ground, his legs almost giving out on him. Even though his head was still swimming a little, his gaze locked on the large group of orcs that nearly surrounded him, and his posture became guarded.

Sweat trickled down his back as he stared at them like a cornered prey would at its predator, fearing that the slightest movement - even a twitch - would be enough to set them into motion. Khadgar was sure they could smell his dread and hear his heart pound in his chest while he wracked his brain, trying to answer the questions that swirled around in his head.

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't come up with an explanation of why he wasn't dead, why he hadn't been killed on the spot. What did they want from him? It was hard to focus, his headache throbbing persistently behind his eyes. Was it some kind of morbid game they liked to play, pretending to release him only to knock him out at the very next second? He could tell by the way his neck ached that he must have received a hit at one point, leaving him to deal with a nasty concussion.

It was Gul'dan who finally broke the moment. "Attack."

Khadgar's head whipped around at the sharp command, though a wave of dizziness made him regret it instantly as he staggered, trying to regain his balance. He was vaguely aware that hell broke loose around him. There were excited shouts and the sound of scraping metal when the orcs pulled out their weapons and suddenly charged at him.

Taken by surprise, Khadgar stumbled backwards, barely dodging the sharp axe that was swung at his head with the intent to kill. His first impulse was to teleport as far away as possible, but the set-up time he needed for the complex spell simply wasn't there. So he did the only reasonable thing: cast his Ice Barrier.

The incantation was embedded so deep in his mind that he didn't even have to think as the words fell from his lips, the magic contained in his body flaring to life, and he was engulfed by blue swirls, effectively blocking any attack that was directed at him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Khadgar used his temporary immunity to take a look around, searching for a way out. He needed a plan, and he needed it now. His barrier was going to last only a minute, probably even less if the angered warriors proceeded to attack it with such ferocity.

Realizing that he was completely surrounded, every possible escape route blocked by rows upon rows of battle-ready orcs, Khadgar felt his spirits drop. There was no way he could take on an entire army on his own. His best chance was to simply outrun them, hoping that he would somehow make it through the camp. He couldn't quite believe that he even considered such an absurd plan - in his drained state no less - but it was the only one he had.

Glancing at Gul'dan, Khadgar prayed that he wouldn't interfere. The warlock posed the greatest threat since he could easily launch a spell at him without so much as moving from his spot. But for now, he was just regarding him with a sinister stare, like he was waiting for something specific to happen, and Khadgar shuddered involuntarily.

A cracking sound alerted the mage to the fact that his barrier was starting to fail and as he turned to look, it collapsed completely. Shoving down his panic, he backed off, amassing all his power and unleashing it only a second later in the mightiest Frost Nova he had ever generated, freezing each and every orc around him in place.

Feeling momentarily dazed from releasing so much magic at once, he swayed dangerously, his hand reaching up to his temple as his headache returned with new vigour. He needed to hurry. He had about eight seconds before the ice would melt, enabling the orcs to advance again. Shaking his head to get rid of the light dizziness, Khadgar gathered all his courage and ran towards his enemies. Just before getting within their reach, he Blinked.

There was an unpleasant tug at his organs when his body was moved forward in a rush and he teleported past them successfully, not breaking his sprint. It took the beasts a few precious seconds to locate him afterwards, but when they did, they roared in anger.

Khadgar felt an instant boost of confidence, having put some distance between himself and them, though the joy was only short-lived when the world suddenly tilted sideways and he found himself on the ground in the next moment. The urge to vomit hit him full force and he fought it with everything he had. Behind him, the Frost Nova shattered with a piercing clink and heavy footsteps thundered over the ground, closing in on him.

His breath hitched in his throat, coming out in ragged gasps, as he tried to scramble to his feet. He knew what they were capable of, had seen the anguish on their victims' faces, the look of utter defeat and horror mere seconds before their deaths. And Khadgar knew, without a doubt, that he would end up just the same. Broken and maimed beyond recognition, carelessly discarded to rot away.

In his disoriented panic, he came up with a spell he had been practicing ever since leaving Dalaran and he raised his arm, blurting the incantation out in a desperate attempt to keep his attackers at bay. He didn't waste time watching as something formed out of thin air next to him, taking the shape of his body. He stopped, though, when the replica gave a pained groan and dropped to the ground.

Khadgar was shocked as he stared at his Mirror Image that sat pitifully on its rear, supporting its upper body with weak arms instead of hurling blasts at the orcs. It was no wonder that he felt so miserable if this was how he looked like. His double's face was alarmingly pale, the slightly unfocused eyes sunken in and limbs shaking with exhaustion. When it tried to stand up, its legs gave out and it collapsed again.

Their eyes met for a split second, then his copy bent over and threw up, almost causing Khadgar to follow suit. It coughed two times and inhaled shakily, only to topple over in the next moment, not showing any signs of getting back up. As fast as it had appeared, it faded into nothing, leaving Khadgar to himself. Well, he could have figured something like this would happen...

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw something move towards him and he jerked, backing away before he even realized what it was. Jolted into awareness, he turned on his heels instantly and bolted for the camp, berating himself for spacing out so frivolously and allowing the orcs to catch up to him. It was bad enough that he had wasted time and mana with the useless spell, but his slip of concentration had nearly cost him his life.

It wasn't until he reached the first tent that the chink in his plan finally dawned on him. He wasn't dealing with his pursuers alone, but also with the other orcs in the camp, some of them now blocking his path as they observed the situation with curious eyes. Changing his direction, Khadgar made a stab at another route, only to find one of the creatures stand in his way. Pulling up short, he looked around again, considering his next step.

Deciding that he fared best with one opponent, Khadgar accumulated his power in his hand, feeding the magic with ancient words, before thrusting his palm at the beast in front of him, turning him into a sheep. Even though being forced to cast this frequently left him slightly out of breath, he pushed forward again. When he ran past the morphed orc, it baaed accusingly at him, but wandered off in another direction.

When Khadgar rounded the tent, a battle hammer was swung at him, but it was already too late to react. The blow was strong enough to send him flying backwards, the following impact knocking the wind out of him. Clutching his stomach, he rolled on his side and curled up, groaning and whimpering from the pain. He didn't even attempt to stand up, knowing that he wouldn't make it in time.

A pair of bare feet stepped into his field of vision and he looked up. The orc lifted his weapon, ready to strike, and brought it down in a swift motion, forcing Khadgar to resort to his ultimate defence. He closed his eyes, raising his arms and turning his head away, just before his whole body was encased in an Ice Block, the battle hammer bouncing off without leaving a single scratch on the smooth surface.

Within the ice, it was as if the world had stopped turning. No sound made it through the solid layers, the tight space only filled by the constant rush of blood in Khadgar's ears. He had only managed to take a hurried gasp before his air supply had been cut off, his lungs screaming for oxygen. Where his exposed skin made direct contact with the ice, it burned like fire, worsening with every passing second.

But he endured, knowing - no, _dreading _\- what awaited him once the spell wore off. His whole endeavor had been nothing more than an act of pure desperation, a short delay of the inevitable. He had maneuvered himself into this precarious situation and there was no way to escape anymore.__

For some reason, he thought back to his time with the Kirin Tor, where he had accidentally trapped himself in an Ice Block and the resulting hypothermia had bestowed the nastiest cold of his life upon him. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about that now.

Eventually, his icy prison dispersed, rapidly, and Khadgar found himself in a puddle of freezing water that soaked his clothes quickly as he lay there, gasping for air. Before he could react, his forearm was seized in a bruising hold and he was pushed onto his back, the orc pinning him to the ground with one knee. Coming to terms with his fate, he closed his eyes, expecting a short, violent pain and then nothingness...

\---

“I don't see him using anything resembling the fel,” Gul'dan remarked dryly, having watched the smallteeth's struggle for dear life the entire time. Though he hadn't shown them what they wanted, the warlock had felt him tap into a foreign source of magic whenever he had casted, piquing his interest. “Enough!” he yelled over the ruckus, causing the warrior to halt mid-swing, “Bring him here.”

Khadgar's eyes flew open when the pressure on his chest suddenly disappeared and he was pulled to his feet. His legs felt numb from the cold and strained under his weight, his body almost going into shock after being rightened so abruptly. Stumbling alongside the orc, he grabbed weakly onto the beast's forearm as he was dragged back to the tent.

Unceremoniously, he was shoved into the dirt at Gul'dan's feet.

Shivering violently, he pushed himself up with quite some difficulty and sat on his heels. Frustrated, he bit down on his lower lip, locking his gaze with the warlock. If he was going to die anyway, he could as well try to land at least one hit. Channeling his power to his hand, he thrust his arm at the leader of the Horde, runes dancing around his fingertips, and shouted with all the vigour he had left: “Rui gen-”

Gul'dan beat him to it, the dangerous eyes flaring up a sickly green, and a shot of pure fel raced towards him, crawling into his mouth and cutting the incantation short. Khadgar's hands shot to his throat, feeling the tainted magic bulge and stretch it unnaturally far as the spell carved its way down, burning like acid.

He fell forward, planting a hand on the ground, retching and coughing up spit. Taking in big gulps of air, he looked back up, eyes wide and teary. He opened his mouth, intending to ask the orc what he just did, but instead, his throat seized up, strangling him momentarily. He caught his breath and tried again, only for his airways to constrict painfully. Raw panic overpowered every rational thought when he realized that he couldn't speak and his body stilled completely, paralyzed.

Shaking his head, Gul'dan waved the crowd off dismissively. “Take him away,” he ordered, turning around to head back into his tent, only stopping once he was level with Blackhand to give him a stern look over. “Have a moment to spare?” he inquired, though it wasn't really a question.

Still trying to process what just happened, Khadgar was completely unresponsive when strong hands closed around his upper arms and hauled him away. The gears in his head were turning agonizingly slowly, but his thoughts were racing. His breathing sped up, bordering on hyperventilation, when it finally clicked. He couldn't speak. He couldn't speak!

Flinging himself against the hold on his arms, he screamed with all might, not a single sound falling from his lips. The only thing he achieved was for his throat to tighten again, cutting his breathing short. Whatever Gul'dan had done, the light-forsaken spell had taken away his voice and with it, his ability to cast, leaving him as helpless as an ordinary citizen, and he had already learned what awaited them.

Craning his neck back, the adrenalin in his blood dulling the pain that accompanied the motion, Khadgar confirmed that they were dragging him towards one of the wooden cages and his eyes widened in terror. Shaking his head in denial, he struggled with newfound determination, trying to yank free. But it was all in vain.

He was tossed inside carelessly, the door shutting behind him before Khadgar even had the chance to sit up. After several uncoordinated and failed attempts, he managed to scramble to his feet, throwing himself against the already locked door, prompting the orc in front of it to turn around and fix him with a stern look.

When his arm was grabbed roughly and pulled through the bars, Khadgar fought against the relentless hold that threatened to dislocate his shoulder, his face and upper body pressed painfully against the wood. The orc snapped at him in his foreign language, adding a mean twist to his grip and Khadgar cried out, mute.

In the next moment, he was pushed away with enough force to send him reeling. Unable to keep his balance, he landed on his ass and hastened to the far end of the empty cage. Covering his mouth to stifle his sobs - not that he needed to, but it was plain instinct - he fought back his tears, unwilling to spill them, as the whole extent of his predicament finally sank in.

This, _this _, was worse than getting killed. If there was another orc that could speak Common, like Garona, it was safe to assume that he would be interrogated and tortured at some point. The thought made him sick. And even if he was spared from that, it was foolish to hope for anything but a hard time.__

Fighting his ascending hysteria, he concentrated on getting his breathing back under control, taking deep and long gasps. In and out… As he calmed down slowly, he became aware of just how exhausted he was, like his body had been drained of all energy, and his trembling intensified.

The hypothermia was really getting to him, his soaked clothes not helping his case. Clutching his arms to his chest and pulling his legs up in a feeble attempt to preserve what little warmth he had left, Khadgar pressed into the corner furthest away from the guard, shaking like a leaf. Night was already falling and he knew that it would get awfully cold once the sun went down completely.

Blowing on his numb fingers through chattering teeth, Khadgar rubbed his hands together, wondering how he ought to survive until tomorrow. Undressing wasn't an option, his body had already cooled down too much, and he couldn't dry his clothes either. The many layers felt heavy on his body, weighing him down and sticking uncomfortably to his itching skin.

Gradually, darkness descended around him and campfires were lit in front of the tents, tinting his surroundings in a warm and light glow, making Khadgar feel even colder as he watched the orcs sit idly around them. Letting his gaze wander, his attention settled on the other cages that weren't far away from his own. Inside, he could see the prisoners huddle together, some of them returning his stare with hopeful expressions on their faces.

Averting his eyes, Khadgar let his head hang low, resting his forehead on top of his knees while his arms encircled his legs. Without his voice, there was little he could do except hope that someone would come to his rescue.

What wouldn't he give to have Lothar - strong and reliable Lothar - by his side. The warrior would surely know what to do in this kind of situation, probably having already busted out of the cage by now. But as it stood, Khadgar was alone, freezing and shivering and helpless.

When he felt a soft touch on his upper arm, he almost jumped out of his skin, his lips parting to let out a surprised yelp that got cut off painfully. Scrambling away as fast as his half-frozen limbs allowed, he turned only when he was a fair distance away from whoever had sneaked up on him. Chest heaving with quick gasps, his gaze locked on the unmistakable form of an orc.

The creature had squatted down to be on eye level with him, possibly to appear less threatening, though Khadgar didn't feel any more at ease because of it. He shied further away and his trembling intensified, fear complementing the cold. The orc gave a good-natured hum and stretched out his arm.

“Here, this will warm you up,” Durotan whispered, preferring not to attract the guard's attention, and held out a bowl of steaming hot soup to the shivering smallteeth. The Frostwolf knew from experience how dangerous and even life-threatening an unattended hypothermia could get, so he wanted to provide at least some assistance.

Khadgar didn't move an inch closer to the bulky orc, examining him from afar. He wasn't sure if this was the same one that had pulled him off his horse since he found it difficult to tell them apart. Choosing to stay alert, he eyed the offered food skeptically, trying to figure out the true intentions behind this kind gesture. Not really trusting the beast, he refused to take it. For all he knew, it could be poisoned.

After some time, Durotan grunted in understanding. He already imagined that the smallteeth would be wary of him. Careful not to spill anything, the chieftain placed the bowl on the ground where the other would be able to seize it easily with those small arms of his.

There weren't many people whom he would willingly hand the next item to, but the caster had gained his respect by showing remarkable skill and bravery while facing a hopeless situation. When he reached behind his back, the little creature tensed up, ducking his head under the collar of his clothes. _It must provide a pretty good cover _, Durotan thought. It was probably thanks to those many layers of clothing that Blackhand's attack hadn't killed him.__

Khadgar was somewhat astonished to see the orc drop a pile of what appeared to be white fur on the dry soil and slide it through the wooden bars. Upon closer inspection, the bewildered mage recognized it as a cloak, crafted from the skin of a giant wolf. The upper part of the animal's skull was still present, fangs bared dangerously and lifeless eyes staring at him.

Durotan pulled back his lips at the questioning look that was directed at him, revealing his teeth in what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, though it seemed to frighten the smallteeth anew. “You earned this, little warlock,” he stated, knowing that the other wouldn't understand, even if he wanted. When he got up, the creature flinched nervously and the chieftain sighed deeply, turning around to head back to his tent without taking further notice of the prisoner.

Khadgar granted himself a moment to get his pulse back under control, his heart hammering almost painfully in his chest after having skipped a few beats when the orc had displayed his sharp fangs. Leaning forwards on dangerously buckling arms, he made sure that the other wasn't coming back; only then did he let his gaze drop down to the things that were left behind, his thoughts lingering on the cloak in particular.

He had forgotten it momentarily, but now he was even more aware of just how cold he was. Glancing at the guard, Khadgar made sure that his interaction with the orc hadn't been noticed, and was relieved that the creature wasn't the slightest bit interested in what he was doing. Stretching his hand towards the fur, he snatched it up and crawled back into the corner. Sitting down on his heels, Khadgar spread the skin over his legs.

Snapping his brooch open, he shrugged out of his drenched cloak, which proved to be harder than expected, and let it fall to the ground. His belt came next, then his jerkin and doublet. The clothes stuck together persistently and it was almost impossible to get them over his head, but he succeeded after a few tries and let them join his mantle.

His tunic came last and Khadgar grit his teeth as he peeled the linen off his skin that glowed an angry red after being subjected to the freezing cold for so long. It was almost painful and he resisted the urge to scratch at it. Piling his clothes up, he paid attention to cover his small pouch that the orcs had overlooked. Unfortunately, it contained nothing more than a few coins and some herbs, but it gave him a sense of security, no matter how false it might have been. His bag was still fastened to his horse's saddle, out of reach.

Choosing to keep his pants on, Khadgar went about his shoes. Unlacing them with numb fingers and shivering hands that refused to obey his command was challenging, but he managed, struggling out of the fusty leather, and placed them aside. He picked up the cloak and threw it over his shoulders, a much-welcomed warmth embracing him instantly.

When he put the way too big hood on his still damp hair, it slid over his eyes, robbing him of his sight for a short moment and he pushed it back up. The fur felt surprisingly cozy on his bare skin and smelled nicely of smoke, leather, earth and a scent he recognized from when a giant hand had covered his mouth.

Wrapping up and snuggling into the incredibly soft and fluffy skin, Khadgar inhaled deeply, finding a strange comfort in the unique smell. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he could have sworn that his body was already heating up, the shivering lessening with every passing second.

Lifting his head, Khadgar gazed after the orc that had long ago disappeared from his sight, wondering what in the Name of Light just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Mirror Image used to be a level 50 spell pre-mist.  
> 


	4. A Collar For The Smallteeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hello *waves* I'm back. Took me long enough... In hindsight, this chapter gave me more troubles than expected.  
> But well :)  
> Again, a big thanks to my beta and another big thanks to all who reviewed, bookmarked or gave their kudos. I hope you will like this chapter as well.  
> And don't expect the next update any sooner, haha...  
> Chapter warnings: Violence, light bondage, character death.

Blackhand couldn't believe his eyes as he stared down on the peacefully sleeping prisoner who had somehow managed to get his hands on the cloak of the Frostwolf clan's chieftain. The creature had huddled so completely into the fur that only his face and hands poked out of it, looking more like a wolf pup than a smallteeth and going as far as to even shed his clothing.

Admittedly, he had wondered about the bowl of untouched soup that sat outside of the cage, but now it made sense and Blackhand growled low in his throat, thinking about Durotan's insolence. He would have to give the Frostwolf a stern talking-to about this, though it had to wait for now. Stooping, he grabbed the smallteeth's forearm and yanked him up with brute force.

Khadgar woke with a start when he was hoisted into the air and slammed back down in the next moment. Stars burst inside his head upon the impact and a cry of surprise and pain slipped past his lips - or it would have, had it not died in his throat at the initial stage. Apparently, the spell had a lasting effect and hadn't worn off during the night.

Swiftly, he was pushed onto his back and a knee was placed over his chest, immobilizing him. The position was oddly familiar and Khadgar strained to breathe under the crushing weight, absently grateful for the fur softening the surface he lay upon. Still a little disoriented, he looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of the shackles in the orc's palm. Shaking his head, he shoved uselessly at the giant hand that reached for his face.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the collar, similar to the one Garona had worn, and he realized, terrified, that they were much more threatening when they were about to snap around his own neck, rather than worn by someone else. Desperate to evade the collar, he twisted sideways as far as the restraining knee allowed, hoping against all hope that if he kept moving wildly and made the orc's job as difficult as possible, his captor would give up.

No such luck, of course.

His head was grabbed to keep him still, the heel of the calloused hand pressing down on his forehead with enough force to make him fear that his skull was being crushed and he gasped in terror, scratching blindly at the orc's forearm. A moment later, the collar closed around his neck, the steel cold and unforgiving as the spikes dug into his flesh, scraping against his skin.

The image of Garona's scarred neck flashed in front of him and Khadgar fought back a sob as the creature hooked the chain into the front of the collar, giving the opened link a firm squeeze to lock it for good. Only then did he get released.

Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes when his wrist was grabbed next and placed inside a cuff, suffering the same treatment as his neck despite his struggling. The other hand followed suit, both his arms now attached to the long, heavy chain that dangled from the collar. He could barely move them apart, leaving him with only a minimal space to maneuver.

The pressure on his chest intensified for a moment, driving all air from his lungs as the orc stood up, then it disappeared, and Khadgar inhaled sharply, rolling to his side and pushing himself up to retreat into the corner. The chain between the cuffs and the collar was too short for his arms to extend properly, further restricting his movement so that he could only reach down to his navel. Frantically, he pulled on the restraints, trying to get them off.

Blackhand examined his work, satisfied, and gave the chain an experimental tug. It hadn't taken half of his strength, yet the smallteeth was already on the ground again, writhing like the worm he was. Amused, he watched him trying and failing to sit up for a few times before he became bored and went to seize the creature's upper arm, pulling him to his feet.

Khadgar fought to remain upright, the dizziness that suddenly assaulted him almost sending him back down. At once, the grip around his arm loosened and he was yanked forward by the chain. Hurrying to follow the orc's fast pace, he stumbled after him, trying to get as little strain on his neck as possible. The sharp pebbles and dried twigs that were strewn about the place stung the sensitive skin on his bare feet and he twitched every time he couldn't avoid stepping on them.

When he recognized the tent he was led to, Khadgar swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly going dry. He had stupidly hoped for at least a day of recovery before he would be dragged here to… actually, he had no idea what they wanted to do to him. The uncertainty did nothing to ease his panicked mind.

Eventually, they stopped in front of the tent and a hand came down hard on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Hesitantly, Khadgar adopted the submissive posture, the rattling of chains accompanying his every move. The orc's studded boots fell on the ground with heavy thuds as he walked behind him, but showed no intention to leave. The beast had probably been ordered to keep watch over him, ensuring he wouldn't try anything stupid, like bolting for dear life again.

From the corners of his eyes, Khadgar noticed several orcs gather around them, though they were keeping a respectful distance. Slumping a little under their curious stares, he longed for his clothes, feeling vulnerable and exposed with nothing more than his pants on. He was absurdly happy about his decision not to discard them as the fur lay forgotten in the cage. A gust of cool morning air caressed his naked skin and he shivered, the memories of just how cold he had been still present in his mind.

His headache was already returning, not as bad as it had been yesterday, but fierce enough that he grimaced in pain, his temple throbbing in step with his heartbeat. The weight of his hands was pulling uncomfortably on his neck, increasing his discomfort, and he crossed them in front of his chest to ease the pressure.

Throwing a glance at the tent's entrance, he waited for Gul'dan to make his appearance, though it seemed like the warlock planned to take his time. Trying not to attract the guard's attention, Khadgar worked the tight cuffs around his wrists, the metal cutting painfully into his flesh. His legs were slowly but surely falling asleep and he would prefer to at least preserve the blood flow in his hands. He stopped immediately, though, when the orc gave his head a shove.

Keeping his precarious balance, Khadgar managed not to fall flat on his face, recognizing the push as the warning it was. The beast could have easily sent him flying across the tent using that same hand. The thought actually scared him. He had seen one of them toss an entire warhorse like it weighed nothing and he wasn't keen on experiencing it himself.

It could have been hours or mere minutes, Khadgar couldn't tell, that he kneeled there until he noticed a commotion behind him. Unease spread in his gut and he turned to look. The crowd parted to let two humans - a man and a woman - pass, both clinging to each other as they were driven forward by yet another orc, this one actually using his axe to prod them when they weren't fast enough.

Once they stood opposite from him, the beast grunted, nodding at the ground with his prominent chin and the pair knelt obediently, the man pulling the woman to his chest protectively. Their wide, fearful eyes settled on Khadgar, begging for help he couldn't offer. He was just as frightened as them when Gul'dan emerged from the tent, looking no less daunting than the last time he had seen him.

At a leisurely pace, the aged orc stepped forward, coming to a halt behind the two prisoners that cowered in terror at his feet. His gaze, though, rested on the shackled smallteeth who was wearing the collar just like he had instructed. It seemed to fit nicely around his neck, making Gul'dan smile cruelly, the sight bringing back memories.

He and Blackhand had agreed to give the caster another chance before he would decide how to proceed. The warchief had assured him that this was the right warlock and Gul'dan was looking forward to seeing the little creature's fel magic. He had been greatly disappointed that yesterday's life-or-death moments hadn't brought it out. Then again, the malicious energy was hard to control, especially in stressful situations.

The current setting had to be more suitable for those who were still untrained in the dark arts and judging by his looks, the caster could be nothing more than a novice, an apprentice maybe. This time, Gul'dan would make sure that the smallteeth understood what was expected from him. “I suppose you know how to use the fel without your voice,” he spoke finally, in a dark and rumbling tone, causing all three creatures to flinch simultaneously, “so, if you would be so kind?”

As anticipated, the caster showed no signs of comprehension and when Gul'dan gestured at the two prisoners, he received only a confused stare in response. “An example it is, then,” he concluded, using the end of his staff to drive the pair apart before turning his attention to the male.

Khadgar grit his teeth upon seeing how Gul'dan manhandled the poor couple. How dare these beasts threaten someone so helpless? He could at least reasonably blame himself for his current predicament - both for being caught snooping around near their camp and for letting them know that he was a magic user - but what on Azeroth had they, or any of the other prisoners, done to deserve this?

The soft crying of a baby brought him out of his musings and he sat up, noticing the small bundle in the woman's arms only now. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen as Gul'dan extended his arm towards the prisoner, eyes and fingertips glowing a bright hue of green.

Energy crackled in the air, so unlike anything Khadgar had ever felt before, and an unpleasant shudder crept down his spine, dread pooling in his stomach. The man's mouth opened in horror and pain, a tendril of white mist snaking from his face and chest to the warlock who waved his hand languidly, obviously enjoying whatever he was extracting.

Aghast, Khadgar watched the man deteriorate slowly in front of his eyes, morbid fascination keeping him from turning away, until Gul'dan pulled abruptly, practically ripping the life from the now heavily screeching and bending human.

Khadgar recoiled in raw panic, his body screaming at him to _get up and run _as the maddening pull of death swept over him, his very soul quivering from the twisted magic. His legs acted on their own, pushing him backwards until he collided with an obstacle. Pressing up against it, he dug his heels into the ground, desperate for any inch he could bring between himself and Gul'dan who, once there was nothing more to take, clenched his fist to sever the connection, cutting the misty trail off.__

The human fell to the ground, dead, and the woman cried out. It was a raw and primal scream, filled with so much grief and sorrow that Khadgar's hair stood on end. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps and he was shaking uncontrollably, covered in cold sweat.

This was worse than anything he had ever encountered so far and he had already seen a few people who had fallen victim to the fel, hadn't even shied away from sticking his finger into one's mouth, but witnessing it was a whole different level. This was fel at its purest, right from the source; the corrupting magic his teachers back in Dalaran had warned him about. And now he knew why.

Reluctantly, he looked up, meeting Gul'dan's gaze. The warlock, composed as ever, gestured at the sobbing woman again, presenting her like a gift, an unspoken invitation to... do something and Khadgar's gaze darted between them, trying to figure out what the other demanded so persistently. He froze when it finally dawned on him. There was no way-

Unwilling to trust his train of thought, he searched the dangerously gleaming eyes. The orc gave a foul smile, inclining his head ever so slightly, and Khadgar felt bile rise in his throat. He shook his head determinedly, trying to get across that he could not and would not do something like this. His heart picked up its pace when Gul'dan's features hardened.

Something underneath him moved and Khadgar jumped, realizing that the obstacle he had squeezed up against was the leg of the orc that stood behind him. He was kicked quite roughly and landed beside the shriveled corpse, scrambling away from it as fast as possible. The beast advanced resolutely, towering above him and driving him back.

“You dare defy your master?” Blackhand growled and stepped on the chain, putting an end to the smallteeth's retreat. Threateningly, he leaned down, taking in the look of utter fear on the rapidly paling face. “You _will _obey or you'll suffer, is that clear?”__

Khadgar couldn't make sense of the words, but he caught on to the tone that was unmistakably displeased. Tugging at the chain, he fought to get free, futilely. He had to tilt his head sideways to prevent the creature from scratching the skin of his throat open when the claws hooked into the small space of the collar, almost suffocating him, and he was hurled towards the woman.

Instinctively, he reached out to break his fall, only to remember that the chain was too short. He landed hard, suppressing a cry of pain as the stones scraped the skin on his hands and forearms, probably drawing blood. He remained prostrate, taking deep, steadying breaths to calm himself. The world had started spinning again, momentarily constraining him to the ground.

Once he had recovered a little, he pushed into a kneeling position and looked up, coming face to face with the woman. Her teary eyes rested on him like he was her only hope - which he probably was.

“Please, please don't,” she begged, pressing the now wailing infant to her chest. “Not my baby girl, please.”

Her quiet pleas broke Khadgar's heart. There was nothing he could do, neither for her nor for the baby, no matter how much he wished to. He didn't have to be a shaman to see what fate awaited them, and while a part of him shied away from the terrifying thought, another felt strangely responsible, as if it was his fault that this was happening. Gul'dan's voice came from above, alarmingly close and sounding rather irritated.

“So, what will it be?” he inquired, fed up with the smallteeth's obstinacy. When the caster bowed his head but didn't move otherwise, he hummed low in his throat, squinting at the cowardly creature. “Have it your way.”

The tainted magic hit Khadgar like a slap in the face. From this close, it was as if Gul'dan was draining a small part of his life as well and he managed not to recoil through sheer willpower. The woman shrieked, her face contorted and eyes wide in agony.

They were brown, Khadgar realized out of place, a lighter hue than his own, probably a little warmer. He had no doubt that, not so long ago, these eyes had been crinkled in laughter, not pain, and had gazed lovingly at the man whose body now lay still just a few steps away and at the baby that was screaming so hysterically that she was choking, the small arms twisting and bending in her mother's hold.

Khadgar could see these eyes glazing over even as they stared at him in agony, desperation and just a tiny speck of hope that had been there since the beginning, refusing to die and pleading for help he couldn't provide.

His stomach was constricting in uncontrollable spasms and he was positively sure that if there had been anything in it, he would have thrown up. Every fibre of his being urged him to flee, but he stayed, forcing himself to watch. He would see this through, because it was the only comfort he could give.

The woman withered away in front of his eyes, the baby's cries dying down along with her agonized screams until, finally, their torture was over. With a muffled thud, the bodies dropped to the ground, still and devoid of all live, the mother cradling the emaciated form of her little girl to her chest to protect her even beyond death. Closing his eyes in a silent apology, Khadgar took a deep breath, only then did he look up, fixing his gaze on the warlock.

Gul'dan tilted his head to the side, surprised to find such determination and fierceness in the smallteeth's eyes. Sure, there was hatred as well, and the creature was on the brink of breaking into tears, but behind these emotions burned a fire he would enjoy playing with... provided that it hadn't been snuffed out by tomorrow.

“He's yours. Make sure to keep him alive,” Gul'dan ordered, turning around and heading back into his tent. He would give the smallteeth a few days. Maybe the caster was just reluctant to direct the fel at his own kind as they seemed to possess some sense of honor after all. He would surely not have these reservations against orcs, even less so if they were inflicting pain on him.

Ah well, one way or the other, this promised to be fun...

\---

Khadgar watched Gul'dan retreat, seething with suppressed rage and wishing he could launch a spell - any spell, really - at the abominable creature, preferably one that caused a lot of harm and broke all these weird things protruding from his back. The fact that he couldn't was driving him crazy and he grit his teeth in frustration.

He was jolted back into the present when warm, rather small fingers twisted into his hair and yanked his head back, drawing a startled gasp from him. Grimacing in pain, he struggled to keep his balance, staring at the upside-down face of a female orc, her features obscured by something white. A mask?

“Did you hear that, scum? You're all mine now!” she said, her tone promising. She had hoped, prayed to the Spirits, that Gul'dan would allow just that. “It's payback time!”

Harshly, Khadgar was flung on his back, the beast straddling him before he had a chance to react. She was surprisingly heavy on his stomach, holding his hands above his head, though the chain was barely long enough for that, forcing him to tilt his head sideways. The collar had slid up his neck, pressing uncomfortably against the base of his mouth, making it hard to breathe. Paralyzed, he gazed up at her, now able to see her features properly.

Her face was hidden behind the skull of an animal, the old, grooved bone covering her nose, temples and forehead. The animal must have been carnivorous in its lifetime, with two sharp teeth embedded deep in the upper jaw, completing the orc's tusks into a set of full fangs. A pair of straight horns jutted out of the skull, running along her head in a slight curve.

White, shaggy hair stuck out from behind the mask, looking like she had only tied it up messily. Paint of the same color ran down the sides of her face and over her exposed shoulders, a stark contrast to the dark green tone of her skin. Like Garona, she was wearing only minimal clothing, though her build was much brawnier.

What Khadgar could see of her expression looked like a mixture of fury and thrill, a combination that boded him ill, and before he knew it, he was already looking for the guard, hoping that he would interfere with whatever was about to happen.

Realizing that the large orc was gone, along with the majority of the crowd, he began to thrash, his chest constricting in fear when he couldn't escape, her muscular legs keeping him in place effortlessly.

“Now, what should I do with you?” she thought out loud, knowing the smallteeth wouldn't understand. She could get used to the twitching of muscles underneath her as he wriggled in a desperate attempt to throw her off, to the quick rise and fall of the small chest and to the dilated pupils that stared at her in fright... “Oh,” she grinned, “I know! I will scratch your eyes out!”

Khadgar's blood froze in his veins when he saw her raise her arm, the claw-like fingers bent to resemble talons. She was grinning madly at him, all teeth and manic gleam in her eyes, then she brought them down.

“Slarina!”

The voice was loud and commanding and had the orc above him pull up short, mere inches from his face. Khadgar's heart had leaped in his mouth, his gaze glued to the sharp, yellowed nails that were dangerously close to his eyes. He held his breath, not even daring to blink in fear it might set her back in motion. Imagining what the beast - Slarina? - had been up to made his stomach churn.

She let her hand hover threateningly and looked up, glaring openly at the advancing orc. “What do you want?” she spat. It had been a while since she had last seen Cralok, though she had figured that he had come through the portal with the others. After all, Gul'dan had only taken the strongest warriors with him and Cralok was the embodiment of that.

Tall, muscular, broad-shouldered and wielding a giant battle hammer that matched his imposing fighting style. His left tusk was chipped from the time he had brought down a full-grown clefthoof with nothing but his bare hands. Actually, he was a quite handsome orc, always wearing his black hair tied up in a single, unplaited pigtail, and they might have gotten along if he hadn't decided to fuck her sister.

Cralok didn't say another word until he was only a step away from the smallteeth's head, then he pointed accusingly at him. “He killed my mate, I have a score to settle,” he claimed, no less friendly. “You better get lost!”

“Blood is thicker than water,” she growled, leaning forward and baring her teeth in an unspoken challenge, her whole body coiled like a spring, ready to lash out. “Don't make me kill you.”

A deep laughter erupted from Cralok's throat as he threw his head back. “I would like to see you try, shaman,” he taunted, his hand twitching subconsciously to the weapon at his hip, but Slarina didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she got up, completely disregarding him, and grabbed the smallteeth by his hair, pulling him into a sitting position.

Khadgar's hands shot up, unable to reach the orc's arm, when he was dragged off. Tripping over the corpse of the woman, he lost his footing, his legs trying and failing to regain it as he followed the beast's movement in an attempt to ease the tension on his scalp. Not a second later, the brawny hand of the male orc closed around the chain, pulling his arms back down, and he had to suppress a cry of pain at the abrupt halt that almost broke his neck.

Slarina whirled around, snarling enraged upon seeing what had stopped her. “Let go,” she threatened, not in the mood to deal with the stubborn warrior right now. Their dispute was already turning heads and she didn't need another one joining in.

They stared at each other for a moment, both battling for dominance, then Cralok grunted. “How about we share?” he suggested, looking down at the grimacing smallteeth that had sunken down on his knees between them.

Huffing in annoyance, Slarina followed his gaze, realizing again just how badly she wanted to start hurting the damned caster. Make him regret what he had done. A low growl slipped past her lips. “Deal, but I get the first hit,” she insisted, unyielding in that point. This was still better than brawling with the physically stronger orc, though she was certain that she could best him if need be.

After a short moment of contemplation, Cralok nodded his approval, albeit grudgingly. “Make it a good one.”

Khadgar had no idea what was going on anymore, but it looked like the two had reached an agreement and he was on the receiving end of the stick. The male orc released the chain and the female stepped around him, his attention snapping to her in an instant. The grip in his hair never loosened as she drew back her other arm, hand clenched into a tight fist, and punched him in the face.

The brute force of the blow threw Khadgar to the ground, the hollow sound of cracking bones registering in his brain a heartbeat before the pain set in. In the next heartbeat, a flash of hot, white agony exploded across his left cheek, drowning out any coherent thought, and he screamed, not even feeling his throat constrict.

Cupping the entire side of his face with his hands, he pressed into the dirt, his body writhing against his will. In his anguished state, he didn't take notice of the foot until it connected with his stomach, the kick sending him flying. The following impact was hard and left him gasping for air as he lay on his back.

The taste of copper spread in his mouth at an alarming rate, the fluid trickling from his bleeding nose into his throat, and he almost choked. Quickly, he rolled onto his side, letting the blood run down his cheek instead.

The left side of his face was still cramped up in pain, but he managed to crack his right eye open, only to see the orcs close in on him. Tucking his head between his arms, Khadgar curled up to shield his organs as the kicks started to rain down on him, brutal and relentless, all the while accompanied by their excited laughter.

Hot tears burned in his eyes as he willed himself to stay in the fetal position despite the pain. Everything inside him urged him to resist, to extend his hand and throw a spell at whatever was causing such harm to his body, but he couldn't. There was nothing he could do but endure, forced to rely completely on their mercy.

Finally, after an eternity of endless agony, the kicks died down and, after another moment, Khadgar dared to uncurl just the tiniest bit, allowing some of the tension to leave his sore muscles. He was hurting all over, his cheek now merely one blazing inferno amongst many others. When his upper arm was grabbed in a bruising hold, he twitched but didn't fight back, too battered for it.

Only half aware of his surroundings, Khadgar let them drag him off, his head spinning viciously. He was a blink away from passing out, clinging to consciousness with all the strength he had left. Nothing around him mattered anymore, there was only the pain coursing through his veins, numbing his thoughts.

His hands were raised as far as they would go, the strong pull forcing his body into a kneeling position, and Khadgar realized only now that they had stopped moving him. There was a sturdy structure in front of him and he slumped against it, not caring what it was. It didn't hurt, so it couldn't be so bad.

The chain was fixed somewhere above his head and, weakly, he sank down on his heels, his legs sliding over the ground until the strain on his neck became unbearable. Absently, he grabbed onto the chain, trying to hold himself upright. Blinking repeatedly, he attempted to clear his sight, but failed. Everything had mashed into a swirl, the colours fading in and out at an increasing speed.

Eventually, darkness came to take him away and Khadgar accepted it gratefully.


	5. Red Marks Show His Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! I'm back! We made it to chapter 5! That's unbelievable, really :)  
> First of all, I want to apologize for the wait that was unusually long, even for my standards. Hopefully, this chapter will make up for it with all the hurt and fluff and feels I crammed into it. I now have an official name for the Durotan/Khadgar fluff: FrostTrust!  
> Then, a big thanks to all those who reviewed, bookmarked or gave their kudos.  
> Please note that this chapter was only partially beta-read. So if there are any mistakes, half-finished sentences or things that aren't clear, feel free to point them out. This also means that there might be some changes later on. Nothing major, only the little things that need a little rewording to be more spot-on...  
> But I really wanted to get it out now, so yeah...  
> And now, have fun with the long-ass chapter!  
> Chapter warnings: Violence, angst.  
> 

“I'm off.”

Carefully, Durotan finished the stroke over his axe with the sharpening stone and turned his head to look at Draka who stood in front of their shared tent, the unexpected sight making him pause. Bright sunlight embraced her, giving her skin and face a healthy glow, highlighting the dark of her hair and bringing out a warm twinkle in her eyes.

During her pregnancy, her body had gone through only minor changes that were quick to disappear after birth. It was no wonder, considering that Draenor had barely supplied them with enough food to live, their constant fight for survival having directed his gaze to the problems at hand. But now that his clan wasn't facing extinction, his mind was clearer and his attention more focused.

For the first time in almost a month, he was looking - really _looking _\- at Draka, admiring her beauty, her fierceness and the way she moved and carried herself. In his opinion, she had always been flawless, not to forget strong and reliable. It warmed his heart to see her so healthy and he realized again how unspeakably lucky he was to have her as his mate.__

She must have sensed his appreciating gaze on her and she stopped securing her dagger to her belt to peer at him. “What's going through that thick head of yours?” she asked jokingly, her voice playful, as she approached.

“You,” Durotan answered truthfully, making Draka smile. He held out his hand for her to take, which she did willingly. Her palm rested gently in his while the other snaked around his neck and she bent down to touch their foreheads together. The intimate gesture soothed his apprehensive heart instantly and he hummed, contently.

“You'll grow old in no time if you keep thinking so much,” she teased affectionately, scratching his neck lightly.

Deciding to go along with her mood, Durotan looked deep in her eyes and asked: “Would you still love me if I did?”

“Certainly. With every wrinkle there is,” she assured. He could hear a suppressed chuckle in her voice and was barely able to hold back his own. Eventually, they shared a quick, happy laugh before Draka straightened again and loosened her hold.

“Take care,” he said as she turned around and headed for the forest. He knew she was only supposed to check up on some traps they had laid for the local wildlife. After all, an army didn't feed itself and since he didn't approve of her partaking in accumulating... fuel for the portal, she was helping to keep the camp stocked up on fresh meat and other supplies.

It was an important and mostly safe task that wouldn't keep her away from their son for too long. Ever since the little orc had come into their life, Durotan found himself worrying significantly more. Maybe Draka was right and he was really getting wrinkles from frowning so much.

With a tired sigh, he repositioned his weapon and, despite the chances of him growing old before his time, went back to his musings. The repetitive motion of the sharpening stone had always served to calm his nerves and help him think - until he sensed someone approach.

Guardedly, he looked up, only to see Blackhand stalk towards him, and wondered briefly if the warchief's timing was intentional. The member of the Blackrock clan came to a halt in front of him without saying a word and a moment of tense silence passed between them as they sized each other up.

It was Blackhand who spoke first. “Are you not fond of your woman anymore?”

The question caught Durotan off-guard and he blinked, not quite sure what brought that up. It should have been obvious to anyone who had watched them just a few moments ago that he was pretty much enthralled by Draka. So he opted for a question of his own. “What makes you think that?”

“I found this,” Blackhand held up a crumpled pile of what looked like white fur - his cloak, Durotan recognized, “by the smallteeth. Care to explain?”

So that's what this was about. He had known about the risks of leaving the pelt with the caster and had expected to be asked about his motives. “It was to our own benefit,” he began, paying attention to sound neutral and collected. “A sick smallteeth is of no use to Gul'dan.”

“A blanket would have done the job!” Blackhand barked, clearly annoyed. Carelessly, he threw the fur at the chieftain who caught it with no effort.

“It wouldn't have sufficed,” Durotan objected, trying to get the point across. “Their bodies are delicate, even more so than we can imagine. If I hadn't given him the cloak, he would have died in that cage.” Fortunately, the words seemed to get through to the warchief as he looked to the side, the muscles in his jaw working.

Blackhand growled, displeased, but he could see where the chieftain was coming from. “Save your worries for those who are worth it,” he advised sternly. “Maybe the smallteeth won't need it much longer.” He had been surprised to see the creature so horror-stricken after being confronted with the fel, as if it had been his first time facing it. Maybe they did have the wrong caster after all…

“Did something happen?” Durotan asked, aware of the warchief's uncertainty. It was unusual for the warrior to be so open with his emotions and the fact that his cloak had been taken from the smallteeth made him fear the worst. They wouldn't hurt the already concussed prisoner further, would they?

In the blink of an eye, Blackhand was back to his old, closed-off self and his features hardened. “That's nothing of your concern,” he said gruffly, jabbing a finger at Durotan, “Just letting you know, I'll keep an eye on you, Frostwolf.”

With that, their conversation was finished brusquely as Blackhand turned around and marched off. Staring after the warchief, Durotan tried to make sense of the other's reaction and words. Something troubled the Blackrock member, that much was certain, but it was hard to figure out what it was exactly.

His gaze lingered on Blackhand until he noticed Orgrim making his way towards him. When the warrior passed Blackhand, it seemed like they were sharing a fleeting look that was hard to read and gone so quickly, Durotan wondered if he had just imagined it. Tilting his head to the side, he waited patiently for his second-in-command to sit down beside him.

“What did Blackhand want?” Orgrim asked once he had settled comfortably, though it was obvious to Durotan's trained eye that it was a forced kind of comfortable, like the other didn't want to be near him.

“Nothing,” he mumbled deep in thought, his gaze dropping to the fur in his hand. Slowly, he folded it up and placed it in his lap, his thumb going up to stroke his jaw absentmindedly. “I hope Garona manages to deliver the message in time...”

\---

Khadgar ducked his head when an orc walked past him, way too close for comfort. His muscles protested at the small movement and he winced, holding back a whimper. It would only cause him more suffering otherwise. Nervously, his gaze swept over the orcs who, to his relief, weren't paying him any mind.

He must have been out of it for the bigger part of the day, if the position of the sun was anything to go by. It had gotten awfully hot during the last few hours, a stark contrast to the chilly night time, and Khadgar moved laboriously into the shadow of the post he had been chained to. Though it was really more like a wooden pile, supporting some kind of platform or maybe one of the watchtowers he had seen from the look-out.

He couldn't quite believe that he had been captured just yesterday. If it wasn't for the soreness of his body and the very real shackles around his wrists, he would think this was nothing but a bad dream he desperately needed to wake up from. Absentmindedly, he forced his mouth open, just enough for his tongue to pass through, and licked his lips in an attempt to dampen them, wincing at the pain the small motion brought along.

After he had come around enough to think straight, he had done a quick check-up and deemed himself lucky. The general pain had subsided to a constant, but tolerable ache and the wounds on his hands and forearms, as well as his nose, had all stopped bleeding. The part of him that had suffered the greatest damage was definitely his cheek, yet it seemed to be the only broken bone.

The left side of his face - from his hairline down to his jaw, even including his ear - was mostly numb, or more like thousands of needles pricking his skin, and the muscles must have locked, every attempt to open his mouth causing the agony to flare up again. But overall, he could have fared much worse.

Letting his gaze wander over his arms, he took note of the beginning bruises that would probably reach their peak by tomorrow. He couldn't help but fear that this was what awaited him every time he refused to follow Gul'dan's orders. Resting his head in the crook of his arm, Khadgar closed his eyes, wondering how long he would be able to endure.

If this kept up, he wouldn't last two days and that could already be a gross overestimation of his own abilities. For all he knew, he could be bleeding out on the inside at this very moment and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He wasn't a warrior who was trained to take a beating or two and knew how to handle it… As a mage, he didn't have much experience or skill in physical fights, preferring books over brawls.

No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't see a way that someone would be here fast enough to bail him out. They needed to find out that he had been taken prisoner in the first place, so his only chances lay with Garona, though he had his doubts that the half-orc would catch up to Lothar in time, which meant he might never learn exactly how dispensable the runaway Kirin Tor mage was for the kingdom.

No, it was pointless to rely on the help of others in this situation. He would have to do something about it himself.

Taking a deep breath, Khadgar looked up, inspecting the place where the chain had been affixed to the massive tree with some kind of hook. He could try to stand up and loosen it, although it was too far up for him to reach it properly. If he added the fact that his legs didn't feel like they would carry his weight and that his hands had gone numb some time ago it would probably turn out to be a wasted effort.

Flexing his fingers in an attempt to get the blood back into them, he contemplated his options again, struggling to concentrate despite his headache and beginning dehydration.

If he couldn't escape now, he had to wait for his captors to get careless and make a mistake. It was safe to assume that they wouldn't kill him within the next few days, thus giving him some time to work out a proper plan. Gul'dan had definitely wanted him to extract the soul of the woman, which actually brought up more questions than answers. They couldn't possibly think that he was capable of using the fel, could they? He had shown no signs, no mutation, so where did that idea come from?

On the other hand, it was to his advantage to let them believe it for as long as possible, at least until he could make a run for it. If they found out that he couldn't perform dark magic, they would probably just dispose of him and he wasn't willing to give up just yet, no matter how slim his chances of escaping were, especially while being cut off from his powers.

But how was he supposed to fool them if he couldn't cast? He had never even heard about a silence spell that lasted longer than a few minutes. Then again, he wasn't a fully trained mage, meaning there were tons of spells he had not learned yet, and he was nothing like Medivh.

Medivh…

He had a new respect for the Guardian now: to be able to face the fel head-on and find a way to control it, achieving something that had been believed to be impossible in the past... He was ashamed to admit that he had been suspicious and doubtful at first, having witnessed the life-draining spell in action, but now he could see that, though similar in result, Gul'dan's magic was undoubtedly of demonic nature and that Medivh was worthy of the admiration he inspired in Dalaran.

He had listened intently to the incantation the older mage had used, but hadn't been able to understand the words, or else he might have memorized them. Not that the spell was of much use without his voice, which brought him right back to the beginning. This was getting him nowhere...

Downhearted, Khadgar stared at the ground, searching for a way out of the loop, until he caught a strange movement from the corner of his eye and his head whipped around. His gaze fixed on the two approaching orcs and his heart sank.

He would recognize that mask anywhere!

Before he knew it, his body had reacted on its own, the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping the life back into his limbs. He was on his feet in an instant, tugging at the chain with all the strength he could muster and swearing inwardly that he hadn't attempted to break free before; not that his feverish struggling made any difference. It only prompted Slarina to break out into manic cackling, the sound sending a cold shudder down his spine.

The orcs strolled towards him without the slightest hint of worry that he might break loose, and once they had reached the pile, the male grasped the chain and unhooked it easily, mocking him with a devilish grin. The creature's grip was unwavering as he wrapped the chain around his knuckles, inevitably pulling Khadgar closer.

Digging his heels into the ground, he fought desperately for any inch he could keep between himself and them. Of course, it was all for naught when the orc repeated the procedure, slowly but surely reeling him in, until they were close enough that Khadgar could smell the beast's breath, and his resistance flickered out. They already had him where they wanted him to be.

“I see you're up and lively,” Cralok commented, smirking as his eyes roamed over the smallteeth's bruised form. “Time to change that.” Using only a moderate amount of force - after all, he had seen what a well-aimed blow could do to their bones - he raised his arm, lifting the creature off his feet, and slammed him down.

All air was driven from Khadgar's lungs and there was a moment of complete blackness when his head hit the ground. He was already familiar with the dizziness that assaulted him and knew what to do, holding still and waiting for it to lessen again while he took deep breaths, oddly aware of the small stones biting into the exposed skin of his back.

Once he had gathered himself, he opened his eyes, realizing that Slarina had knelt down beside him. The male had let go of the chain and instead, her hand had closed firmly around the collar to keep him in place, her nails digging into the skin on his shoulder. Shying away from her touch as much as possible, Khadgar stared up at his intimidating captor.

All his thoughts were reduced to a single question: what did they want now?

Their last encounter hadn't ended that well for him and he wasn't keen on repeating that experience, especially not this soon. When Slarina raised her free arm, he shut his eyes and turned his head away, preparing for a blow or something similar.

What he hadn't expected, though, was the slight sting across his stomach and he flinched, regarding the orc's hand that had come to a rest on his middle in alarm and confusion. He couldn't see a weapon nor had her claws provoked the sensation and he was just wondering how-

Suddenly, without visible cause, the pain was back, only stronger this time. In a moment of panic, Khadgar lashed out, instantly regretting his mistake as the punishment came in form of a harsh slap to his face.

The force of the blow threw his head to the side and his hands shot up to cup his cheek, thankfully the one that wasn't broken. He hadn't even fully recovered before Slarina's hand was on his skin again, sending the same, sharp agony through him. It wasn't just focused in one place anymore, but spread throughout his whole body, intensifying until his muscles began to contract against his will and he convulsed.

In the next second, the pain was gone and he fell back to the ground, gasping for air. His thoughts were racing in an attempt to come up with an explanation. Just what in the Name of Light was she doing? He felt sick and his insides were stinging like they had been churned, which was impossible to do from the outside, unless- It was a spell!

It was obvious that Slarina was a shaman and Khadgar racked his brain to remember what he had read in a book in Dalaran's library about troll shamans.

_Shaman are spiritual guides and practitioners, not of the divine, but of the very elements. Unlike some other mystics, shaman commune with forces that are not strictly benevolent. The elements are chaotic, and left to their own devices, they rage against one another in unending primal fury. Acting as moderators among earth, fire, water, and air, shaman summon totems that focus the elements to support the shaman’s allies or punish those who threaten them- ___

Shit, this wasn't helping at all! If anything, it only made his fear worse.

Locking his teary gaze with his tormentor, he shook his head, pleading her silently to stop. Her expression was devoid of any sympathy when she reached for his forehead, covering his eyes and turning his world pitch-black.

Khadgar grit his teeth, bracing himself for the worst... yet it never came.

And he couldn't say which was worse: the actual pain or the impending threat of it. Fear held his chest in an iron grip and his breath hitched in his throat while he waited for Slarina to continue his torture at her whim.

It was in this moment that he realized what it truly meant to be at someone's mercy.

He had never felt so helpless in his entire life, too frightened to even try and pry the limb away. It was up to her to decide when to inflict pain and to what extent while all he could do was bear it and hope that she would know when to stop.

A disturbing crackling was the only warning he got before excruciating pain shot through his head and he _screamed _, his back arching off the ground as his body began to spasm. It was like a scorching rod was driven into his brain. He wanted to grab the orc's arm, to make her stop, but he had no control anymore, his muscles jerking and twitching violently, uncoordinatedly.__

When the pain finally ceased, Khadgar collapsed, only half aware of the orc releasing his forehead. His surroundings had faded into the background as he lay there, trying and failing to catch his breath. The damned spell must have kicked in again, though he hadn't felt the pain of getting choked.

His whole body was tingling, not only on the surface but from deep within. It was running up and down his bones, making him want to throw up. His muscles were still twitching occasionally and his eyes burned. White spots danced all across his vision, making it impossible to see past them. His forehead felt like she had peeled the skin off and the left side of his face was ablaze with searing pain.

Light, he had to get away... Now.

\---

Intrigued, Cralok leaned closer. It was obvious that Slarina was causing the smallteeth a great deal of pain, yet he had no idea how exactly she was doing that with nothing but her bare hands.

“If I were you, I wouldn't touch him,” she advised, never taking her eyes off the heavily panting smallteeth, “unless you want a shock, too. Not that I'd mind...” Letting go of the collar, she loosened her wrist and rolled her shoulders, getting ready for the next round.

Cralok blinked, confused, then burst into laughter. “Don't tell me you're using Lightning Bolt?”

“I'm using Lightning Bolt,” she confirmed with a nod, grinning maniacally. Bending her claws again, she let the electricity dance between her fingers, small flashes of lightning jumping visibly between them. “This spell really comes in handy from time to time.”

Leaning against the pile and crossing his arms in front of his chest, Cralok made himself comfortable. Slarina hadn't exaggerated when she had told him she was preparing a show he would enjoy, though there were better ways to get his attention than throwing a bone at his head. He had actually considered to rip out her windpipe for that, but his interest had already been piqued.

The only thing that bugged him was that he couldn't partake, though watching the smallteeth writhe in agony was kind of satisfying by itself. Still, he couldn't help but wonder… “You sure you're not going to kill him accidentally?”

Slarina huffed in annoyance. “I'm just testing. Their skin is thin, but he can take a few volt.” She was wiser than going against Gul'dan's direct orders. He had forbidden them to kill the creature after all. “Look! He's fine and moving,” she pointed out. The smallteeth had managed to roll onto his stomach and was now trying to crawl away. Snorting at the meager attempt, she reached out. “Where you think you're going?”

Khadgar could barely hold back a scream when he was grabbed by the hem of his pants and yanked towards his assailant. Terrified, he struggled against her grasp, kicking blindly at the orc with all the strength he had left. Though his feet connected with his captor, she didn't seem to be fazed by it in the slightest and his fear intensified. There was no way he was going to survive another of these.

Eventually, she got hold of his ankle and wrenched his leg up, immobilizing him temporarily. His lips quivered with suppressed sobs when she let go and clutched his wrists instead, pressing her thumbs into his palms. He already knew what was to come and shut his eyes in useless preparation. In the next moment, pain was tearing through him again, racing up and down his heavily cramping arms. His body was writhing in agony, trying desperately to escape her grip, but in vain.

After an eternity that could have been nothing more than a few seconds, Slarina released his arms and they fell lifelessly on his stomach, the muscles not obeying his command anymore. He wasn't even given a chance to assess the damage before a rough hand settled on the sensitive skin above his breastbone and Khadgar flinched, feeling his pulse race under her pointed fingers that were way too close to his throat.

He could feel the attack build in her palm and, with a short increase in pressure, Slarina released it into his body. The pain went straight through his chest and, suddenly, the world around him stopped.

Khadgar's eyes widened in terror. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move. Random pictures of his life flashed in front of his eyes, then Slarina's hand was on him and a short, electric jolt right over his chest brought him back. His heart kicked back in with an almost painful beat and he inhaled sharply.

“Seems like this is his limit,” Slarina commented, inspecting the smallteeth warily. The last shock had definitely been too much, but that was her own fault, trying a proper attack on the caster when it was obvious that the fragile body couldn't handle that. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision to unleash it so close to his heart either.

“Just underneath that line will do fine,” Cralok chipped in, satisfied with how the situation was playing out, and Slarina nodded her approval. He had no idea what had happened exactly, but the smallteeth looked absolutely terrified.

Khadgar had rolled onto his side, sweating and shaking uncontrollably, his breath bordering on hyperventilation. The feeling in his arms was slowly returning and he fisted his hands, searching for anything that would keep him grounded as the truth struck him, hard.

Dead... For a short, horrible moment he had been dead!

The distinct crackling of electricity filtered through his panic and he froze, paralyzed. Dread spread inside his guts as his eyes moved automatically, fixing on Slarina's hand that was already reaching towards him. In the next moment, his side was ablaze with hot, white pain, then his shoulder, and his kidney, and Khadgar screamed again, silently, unheard.

Bolt after bolt was forced into his violently twisting body, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, but always agonizing to a point that he wished he would just pass out and be done with it. There was only so much he could take and after a while, his mind simply shut off, blocking out the pain.

By the time it finally stopped, he was an uncontrollably twitching and shaking mess.

“That's enough, I'm running out of mana,” Slarina said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. The smallteeth wasn't showing any signs of being coherent anymore and, to be honest, she was missing some sound. It was too bad Gul'dan had shut the creature up with his spell. It was more fun if the victim could actually scream his pain out. Still, it felt good to get revenge.

“Looks like you've done quite a number on him,” Cralok remarked and pushed off the pile. He walked over to pat Slarina on the shoulder and received a threatening growl in return. “Okay, okay, no touching… At least let me help you clean up,” he offered and bend down.

Khadgar flinched when his upper arm was grabbed in a strong hold, but didn't struggle. He had expected pain, more torture, and was surprised that there was none. Instead, he was pulled up and dragged off. Weakly, he raised his head to see where they were taking him and felt something akin to relief wash over him upon recognizing the cage.

Carelessly, he was shoved back inside and collapsed to the ground, too worn out to even try and break his fall. The door closed behind him and the lock was turned around with a metallic click, signaling him that it was truly over for today. Exhausted, he curled up on his side and concentrated solely on breathing through the pain. His eyes kept falling shut so he allowed them to close, granting himself a few minutes of rest.

When he forced them back open, it was considerably darker around him. He must have been out again, and for quite a while no less. The amount of times he had fallen unconscious within the last few hours should have been alarming and was definitely not a good sign, considering his concussion, but he didn't care. All that really mattered was escaping.

Today had showed him that he couldn't afford to wait longer than necessary or they might kill him accidentally. They were clearly overestimating his endurance and he didn't want to take a chance if it could be avoided.

Struggling to lift his head off the ground, Khadgar sneaked a glance at the door and his hopes crumbled into nothing. A guard was standing just outside, fulfilling his purpose despite seeming quite inattentive, if the way the orc's head hung was any indicator. He wouldn't get away like this…

For a moment, Khadgar was tempted to simply stay in this exact spot and drift back to sleep or unconsciousness, whatever got him first, so that he wouldn't have to deal with all the pain and frustration anymore. The ground underneath him was still radiating a pleasant warmth, but the air was already chilling his bare skin. It was safe to assume that the temperature would drop further within the next few hours and without a fire to keep him warm, he would be freezing again. He needed his clothes.

Biting back a groan, he rolled onto his stomach and forced his body into a kneeling position, his muscles straining under the exertion. Every movement hurt, his bones aching from deep within, as he dragged himself over to his clothes that were still as messily piled up as he had left them yesterday. It was comforting to know that he orcs at least hadn't rummaged through his belongings.

Grimacing in pain, he sat down on his heels and grabbed his doublet, knowing it had the best chance of keeping him warm. However, when he wanted to slip into the sleeves, he discovered the obvious hindrance: he couldn't put his clothes on with the cuffs…

Impassive, he stared at the chain, too tired to work out an alternative or even curse it. He just sat there for a while, unable to bring himself to move and not seeing a reason why he should.

_Might be going into shock _, Khadgar thought, disconnected. His head felt light, as if he had lost too much blood, and the world was spinning around him, though that was nothing new. All his thoughts were coming to him through a thick fog and his blood pressure was probably reaching a new low, but all he perceived at this moment was the hollow sensation in his chest, like he had been deprived of every emotion. _Yep, definitely going into shock… _____

Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, still aware enough to lie down on his good side so he wouldn't put any pressure on his broken cheek. Cradling his arms to his chest and pulling his legs up, he stared numbly ahead, looking at nothing in particular. The buzzing noises around him were slowly lulling him into some kind of stupor and he just accepted it, letting the night fall around him.

When something brushed his hair, he flinched, but didn't start like he had yesterday. He already had an idea about who was touching him and turned slightly to confirm his assumption. Thick, brown fingers filled the bigger part of his vision until the orc pulled back his hand, enabling Khadgar to see him properly.

The creature had squatted down, regarding him with a somewhat compassionate expression. Observing the orc closely, he soon recognized him from yesterday night. The color of his skin seemed to be rare amongst his kind and the dark braids were another remarkable feature. Upon closer inspection, this could actually be the orc he had met in Elwynn forest, the one that had touched his Ice Barrier so delicately.

Laboriously, Khadgar dragged his arms under his chest to push himself up, though he was too weak to even accomplish that simple task. He was trying really hard, but he couldn't, for the life of him, lift his head off the ground. It was like his body had become lead and when his buckling arms gave out, he slumped back down, exhausted.

The orc must have noticed his struggle and in the next moment, big, gentle hands were on him, helping him sit up and scoot over, so he could lean into the corner where it was less likely that he would just keel over. Resting heavily against the branches that were his prison, Khadgar watched the orc sit down beside him and cross his legs.

Durotan scrutinized the smallteeth thoroughly. The poor thing looked worse off than the last time he had seen him. So his fears had been justified after all, something did happen. Guilt clawed at his insides, scolding him for not having checked on the caster's condition sooner, and his brows furrowed in worry. The creature's bruised skin had felt cold and clammy under his touch and he seemed… dazed.

Humming in contemplation, Durotan glanced at the smallteeth's still discarded clothes, wondering why he chose to stay half naked despite his small build that wouldn't protect him from the weather, be it heat or cold. It was clear why he wasn't fully dressed, but the cloak would meet his needs just fine.

Leaning forward, Durotan searched for a gap between the bars that was big enough for him to stick his arm through and did so once he had found one. He had to stretch awkwardly far to reach the clothes and he grunted, his fingers finally closing around the corner of blue wool that peeked out from underneath the pile. Straightening, he pulled the cloak forth and spread it out.

The material was still a bit damp, probably because the sun had had no chance drying it; not with all those layers of clothes on top of it. Dissatisfied, Durotan decided to work with what he had and draped it over the smallteeth's unmoving form, fully aware that all his actions were closely observed.

He fumbled with the brooch for a while and concluded, after several failed attempts at closing the thing, that it was simply too delicate for his big hands. Instead, he smoothed the fabric over the caster's body, making sure the other was properly covered and that the cloak wouldn't slide off.

He was a little surprised that the creature allowed this without the slightest complaint or even a flinch. Hoping to prompt a reaction from the smallteeth, he placed his hand flat over his chest and spoke, “Durotan.”

Khadgar examined the creature, trying desperately to focus and figure out what he wanted from him. The orc repeated the single word, tapping his giant hand to his muscular chest to emphasize it. Was he actually introducing himself?

Durotan could see the moment the smallteeth grasped what he was trying to tell him and a wave of relief washed over him. The caster was responsive after all.

Nodding slowly, Khadgar indicated that he had understood and the orc's lips pulled back in pretty much the same way they had yesterday. And this time, he recognized the gesture as what it was: a smile.

Carefully, he reached through the bars, having to bend uncomfortably far because of the short chain, and wrote into the dry soil. He chose Common, the language of the humans, hoping the orcs were using the same alphabet and that the other could read. Once he had finished, he grabbed onto the branches, struggling to straighten up again while Durotan leaned forward, deciphering the letters that were drawn neatly into the ground. _Khadgar ___

“Khadgar,” Durotan gave it a try, looking at the caster for confirmation. A smile ghosted over the tired face and he received a weak nod in return.

His name sounded a little rough on the orc's tongue, but Khadgar didn't mind. Learning his name was the kindest effort any of them had taken with him, showing that he was, at least to this one, more than just someone they could vent their anger on.

Regarding the smallteeth - no, Khadgar - in concern, Durotan's gaze settled on the forming bruise under his left eye. Moving slowly to give the caster a chance to object, he reached out, placing his index finger tenderly under Khadgar's chin to make him look up. Both eyes were bloodshot, but, as far as he could tell, not from crying.

Carefully, he tilted the smallteeth's head and frowned when he saw the swelling. The bone had probably been broken, which was no wonder, considering those puny muscles that were pretty much useless for anything.

On Khadgar's other side, a red, fern-like pattern snaked up from underneath the cloak, traveling up the side of his neck and fanning out over his cheek. Durotan had spotted it before. The intricate design spread all over the smallteeth's right chest, shoulder and part of his back, though he couldn't determine what had caused it to appear.

“Mmh… What did they do to you, little warlock?” Durotan wondered out loud, tracing the markings with a finger and watching intently for a reaction that would indicate pain or discomfort, but there was none. Only this empty stare, like he wasn't quite present. Releasing the delicate chin, Durotan took hold of the bowl of soup he had set aside earlier.

“I brought something to eat,” he explained, “It's not poisoned.” To prove his point, he lifted the bowl and sipped its contents, making sure that Khadgar saw him swallow it down. “See?” It had only later occurred to him that the smallteeth might refuse to eat because of that possibility and he had been right. The food from yesterday was still standing at the exact same spot he had left it.

Khadgar's mouth watered involuntarily as he saw the broth and he swallowed. He had momentarily forgotten about his hunger, but was now even more aware of it and his stomach growled in anticipation. Hopeful, though still a little wary, he held out his shaking hands, accepting the offered bowl gratefully.

Touching it to his chapped lips, he tried to open his mouth and winced at the sudden flash of pain in his cheek, but the rich smell of vegetables and meat easily won over it. Carefully, Khadgar tipped the bowl and allowed the warm liquid to flow into his mouth. This had to be the best thing he had tasted in a week and he closed his eyes in delight.

He swallowed, letting the soup trickle down his parched throat - and almost doubled over as the pain downright exploded across his face.

Before he knew it, Durotan had reached out to steady him and the bowl, while Khadgar fought back a groan. It was probably not a good idea to eat anything with his broken cheek, but he had to get some nutrients and water into his system. He was thankful that it was just broth and nothing he actually had to chew.

Nodding at the orc, he signaled him that everything was alright and he was released again. Leaning back into the corner, Khadgar drank slowly and carefully this time, emptying the bowl sip by sip. He had to pause every now and then to allow the pain in his cheek to subside. All the while, the orc sat patiently beside him, watching him with an alert look.

Once Khadgar had finished, he handed the bowl back with a thankful nod. He felt better, now that his stomach was filled and a pleasant warmth was spreading inside his body, something he had thought he wouldn't experience any time soon. And with it returned the exhaustion.

Utterly spent, Khadgar sagged against the bars and wrapped up tighter in his cloak, keeping his droopy gaze on the broad-shouldered orc who looked like he wasn't planning on leaving him any time soon and that in itself was reassuring. Somehow, he felt so much safer with Durotan around, protected even. _Could be because he's not trying to hurt me _, he thought bitterly.__

Slowly, his eyes fell shut as he drifted off to sleep.

\---

Lothar picked at his food absentmindedly, glancing down the way they had come from for the umpteenth time. Night had already fallen, wrapping the surroundings in a dark blanket and reducing his sight to a minimum. He wondered why the rest of the party hadn't caught up to them by now, their continuous absence making him nervous.

Admittedly, he and Varis had taken a head start and had been going at full speed ever since, intending to deliver the newly attained intelligence to Llane as soon as possible, but Lothar expected the others to follow suit. He was just hoping that nothing bad had happened. There were other dangers than orcs lurking out there, though he doubted that any of them were as deadly as the invaders.

Shaking his head, Lothar tried to convince himself that everything was alright. If they had been attacked by a bear or something similar, they were all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Even Khadgar, being the bookworm he was, had some fine spells up his sleeve. He had to hand that to the mage, though he would never admit it out loud.

Deciding that he was just exaggerating, Lothar returned to his meal. But still, every time there was a noise, he would look up, expecting to see the horses trot out of the shadows.

When Varis cleared his throat, Lothar glared at him over the campfire, daring him to say something. It was obvious that the other had sensed his discomfort and was now reeling for words to console him, though Lothar was in no mood for it. Instead, he cut the warrior off before he had started.

“Go to sleep, Varis, I'll take the first watch,” Lothar ordered, smiling tiredly despite himself. There was still a slim chance that the others were going to join them during the next hour and he would have a better rest after that. “Let's just hope that the representatives have at least managed to gather when we arrive in Stormwind tomorrow...”


End file.
